Dawn Experiment

#Day 21 — 16:47

Zhao and Kim had been at it for an hour, stripping the treatment room of anything with a circuit. Tablets, laptops, even the small clock on the wall—all of it piled in the corridor, waiting to be stored somewhere far from this space.

Aida watched from the doorway, arms crossed, her mind elsewhere.

”Last one,” Kim announced, unplugging a reading lamp with a built-in charger. ”This place is now a dead zone. Chen should be able to lower her defenses.”

”Thank you, Kim.”

Kim nodded, hefted the pile, and disappeared down the corridor.

Aida turned back to the room. Mei-Lin was arranging towels by the bath, her movements precise, deliberate—the way she always moved when anxious. The bath was ready: warm water, jasmine petals floating on the surface, oils waiting on the edge. The mattress under the slanted window was piled with cushions. Soft Chinese classical music played from somewhere—a battery-powered speaker, the only exception to the electronics ban.

They had planned this carefully.

Chen’s Dawn Meter was holding in the mid-sixties. Stable, but any break in her feeding schedule could be fatal. And the wave was coming—dozens of women whose readings would soon cross the fifty percent threshold. They needed Chen healthy before that wave hit.

The first step: make her comfortable here. Remove the electronics that kept her defenses up. Get her out of that cabin, away from the constant work with Nadia. Let her body learn to rest.

Then the shower. Mei-Lin would join her—gentle touch, no pressure, just warmth and presence. Re-acclimatize her to human contact.

Then, eventually, Zhao would treat her.

But that was later. Today was about the bath.

Aida’s stomach churned, and she didn’t know why.

Maybe it’s seeing her body, she thought. The scars. The damage. I don’t know what we’ll find.

She looked at Mei-Lin, who was now folding the same towel for the third time. The same anxiety. The same unknowing.

Aida crossed to her, wrapped her arms around her from behind, pressed her face into Mei-Lin’s hair.

”We’ll be okay,” she whispered. ”Whatever we see. We’ll be okay.”

Mei-Lin leaned back into her. ”I know. I just... I don’t know how she’ll react. To touch.”

Aida held her tighter. ”Remember her curiosity. The way she explored my face that first night. The way she asked questions.” She paused. ”There’s something underneath. Something that wants more. We just have to find it.”

Mei-Lin nodded against her.

They stood like that for a long moment, breathing together, grounding each other.

Then the doorbell rang.

They straightened their silk robes, smoothed their hair, and Aida opened the door.

Chen stood in the corridor, still in her hospital gown. The only clothes she had. She could walk on her own now, but her movements were slow, careful, frail. Her dark hair was lank and oily—days without washing. Despite that, the smell that reached Aida was not unpleasant: milk, yes, and something else beneath it, something uniquely Chen. Not overpowering. Just... present.

Aida took one hand. Mei-Lin took the other.

They guided her slowly into the room, across the soft carpet, to the mattress under the slanted window. Sunlight streamed in, warming the cushions. The music played softly. The scent of jasmine filled the air.

Chen’s blind eyes lifted slightly, as if sensing the light.

”The room smells nice,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but steady. ”The jasmine. It reminds me of home.”

Aida felt something loosen in her chest.

They sat together on the mattress, Chen between them. For a moment, no one spoke. The music played. The sun warmed their skin.

Then Aida began.

”How are you feeling today?”

Chen considered the question—really considered it, the way she considered everything. ”Better than yesterday. Worse than I will be tomorrow.”

Aida smiled. ”That’s good. That’s progress.”

She explained the plan: a bath, some massage, then feeding. Nothing more. Chen could stop anytime she felt uncomfortable. No pressure. No expectations.

Chen nodded. ”I’m ready to start now.”

Aida hesitated. Then: ”You’ll need to undress. I can help, if—”

”I don’t need help.”

Chen stood. Faced the bath. Slowly, she untied the hospital gown and let it fall.

Aida’s hand flew to her mouth.

She made no sound—couldn’t. The shock was too complete. Beside her, Mei-Lin’s jaw dropped, her eyes filling with tears she was trying desperately to hold back.

They had expected scars. They had prepared themselves for damage.

They had not prepared for this.

Chen’s body was a map of suffering.

Her nipples—pierced, yes, but not with rings. With something larger. The wounds were still healing, the skin around them red and raw. Bite marks covered her breasts, her waist, her hips—some fresh, some scarred over. Across her pubic mound, Carmona’s logo was branded into the flesh, the scar still pink and raised. Weeks old, maybe a month at most.

Her vagina was a landscape of injury. The labia were torn along every edge, ragged and uneven. Her clitoris—Aida couldn’t look directly at it, couldn’t process what had been done there. Something had bitten it. Or cut it. Or both. The scars told a story she didn’t want to read.

And her thighs. Someone had carved words into the soft skin of her inner thighs. Racial slurs. The kind Aida had heard whispered in green rooms, shouted at her on the street, spat at her by men who thought her body was their property. Carved into this girl’s flesh. Permanent.

Humanity didn’t just fail to eliminate racism, Aida thought. It got worse. It carved itself into children.

A sound escaped her—a sob she couldn’t contain.

Mei-Lin broke first. She rushed forward, wrapped her arms around Chen, and cried openly, loudly, without shame. Her body shook with it.

Chen hugged her back. Spoke in Mandarin, soft and calm: ”Don’t worry. Don’t be afraid of my body.”

Aida crossed to them, wrapped her arms around both, and let her tears fall onto Chen’s scarred shoulder.

How can such a small body endure this? she wondered. How can anyone be so cruel to a teenage girl?

She thought of what would have happened if Verne, Maggie, and Victoria hadn’t won that night. If Carmona had taken the ship. Would the Oasis women look like this now? Would her family?

Her own past—the abuse, the exploitation, the years of being used—suddenly felt distant. Small. Not unimportant, but... different. What had been done to her was terrible. What had been done to Chen was a different order of horror.

And Chen—Chen, who should have been a star. The hope of humanity. Surrounded by investors begging for a piece of her beautiful mind. Instead, she had this body. This history. This pain.

While Aida had her family. Her warmth. Her home.

It didn’t seem fair.

She guided Chen into the bath. Then undressed herself and stepped in. Mei-Lin followed.

The warm water surrounded them. Jasmine petals floated against their skin.

Aida’s mind was blank.

She had rehearsed this. Planned every step. Now she couldn’t remember any of it.

Chen sensed the hesitation. She reached out, found Aida’s hand, and placed it on her own scarred chest.

”When you came to my cell,” Chen said quietly, ”when I felt Zhao’s face and knew he was alive. When I learned Vivienne was captain. When I knew you were there, beside me—” She paused. ”That was the first time in two years I wanted to live. The first time I felt I had a job to do.”

Her blind eyes seemed to find Aida anyway.

”Thank you for that hope. I hope I can do better. I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

Aida’s throat tightened.

”Treat my body like your own,” Chen continued. ”I trust you. Both of you.”

Something loosened in Aida’s chest. The pressure didn’t disappear, but it shifted—became manageable.

She began with Chen’s scalp. Worked the oily hair gently, massaging, washing. Chen’s eyes fluttered closed. Her breathing slowed.

Then Chen spoke again.

”What is it like?” she asked. ”To share a man. Don’t you feel jealous?”

Aida’s hands paused, then continued.

”In the old world, it would have been wrong,” she said. ”Frowned upon. But the old world is gone.”

She told Chen about her walls. About the decades of protection. About how Zhao had cracked them, slowly, patiently. About the jealousy she’d felt toward Vivienne—and how that jealousy had transformed into something else. Into love.

Mei-Lin added her own story. How she had thought she was homosexual, hated men. How Zhao had changed her mind. How she now loved them all—differently, but completely.

Chen listened with the intensity she brought to everything. Her questions were genuine, curious, hungry.

As they talked, Aida’s hands moved. Imprinting touch on Chen’s body. Learning her landscape of scars. Feeling the tension melt, degree by degree.

Chen fed on her breast, and something shifted.

Chen’s finger found Aida’s thigh.

It was tentative at first—just a brush, skin against skin, as if she was mapping territory she hadn’t expected to explore. Her blind eyes were focused somewhere else, on nothing, but her hand had its own intent.

The finger traced upward. Slow. Deliberate. Learning the texture of Aida’s skin, the warmth of it, the slight dampness from the bath.

Then it found the edge of her vagina.

Chen’s whole hand paused. Her finger rested there, on the outer lip, feeling the softness, the heat radiating from within.

Aida held her breath.

The finger retreated.

Quickly. Almost guiltily. Chen’s hand started to pull away entirely—

Aida caught it.

”It’s okay,” she whispered. ”You can touch. Whatever you want.”

Behind Chen, Mei-Lin shifted closer. Her breasts pressed against Chen’s back, warm and soft. Her hands found Chen’s hips, resting there, gentle and constant. A silent promise: I’m here. This is safe.

Aida guided Chen’s finger back. Traced it along her own thigh, slowly, letting Chen feel the smooth skin, the way her muscle twitched beneath the surface. Then upward again, to the edge, to the place where her body opened.

”Here,” Aida breathed. ”Feel.”

Chen’s finger moved. Explored the outer lips, the texture of them, the way they parted slightly under pressure. Her brow furrowed with concentration—the same expression she wore when solving equations, when cracking code.

”It’s soft,” she murmured. ”Different from... before. From mine. Before they—”

She stopped. Her finger stilled.

Aida waited. Let her have the moment.

Then Chen’s finger moved again. Slid between the lips, into wetness, into heat.

Aida’s breath caught. Her hips shifted involuntarily.

Chen’s eyes widened—blind, but somehow seeing. ”You reacted.”

”Yes.”

”Why?”

”Because it feels good.”

Chen’s finger moved deeper. Explored the inner walls, the ridges, the texture. Her concentration was absolute—scientific, clinical, and something else. Something warmer.

”It’s different inside,” she said. ”The texture changes. Here—” her finger pressed slightly ”—it’s smoother. And here—” she moved ”—rougher.”

”That’s the spot,” Aida managed. ”Right there.”

Chen pressed again. Held. Felt Aida’s response—the gasp, the involuntary clench of internal muscles.

”Interesting,” Chen breathed. But her voice wasn’t clinical anymore. It was lower. Warmer. Curious.

Mei-Lin shifted behind her, and Chen’s attention divided. Her other hand reached back, touching Mei-Lin’s thigh, finding her center.

”May I?” she asked.

”Please,” Mei-Lin whispered.

Chen’s finger found Mei-Lin’s entrance. Slid inside. Her eyes—sightless, searching—moved between the two women as if she could see them through her fingertips.

”Different,” she said. ”So different. The texture, the way the muscles respond. Yours—” to Aida ”—is smoother here. Yours—” to Mei-Lin ”—has more ridges. And the heat—” she withdrew slightly, then pressed deeper ”—the heat changes when I move.”

Her fingers moved in both of them, slowly, experimentally. Comparing. Learning.

Aida watched her face. The flush spreading across her cheeks. The way her lips parted slightly. The slight quickening of her breath.

She doesn’t know, Aida realized. She doesn’t recognize what she’s feeling.

”Chen,” Aida said softly. ”How does this feel? For you?”

Chen paused. Considered the question like a theorem.

”Warm,” she said finally. ”Your skin is warm. And...” She searched for words. ”There’s a rhythm. A response. When I move one way, you tighten. When I move another, you relax. It’s like...” She trailed off.

”Like what?”

”Like a conversation. Without words.” Her fingers moved again, deeper, and both women gasped. ”My fingers ask questions. Your bodies answer.”

Aida withdrew gently from Chen’s touch. Stood in the bath, water cascading down her body. She positioned herself in front of Chen’s face.

”Do you want to smell it?” she asked.

Chen’s blind eyes lifted. ”Smell?”

”Here.” Aida moved closer. Her center was inches from Chen’s face. ”The scent is different for every woman. Mei-Lin’s is sweeter. Mine is... earthier. Do you want to know?”

Chen leaned forward. Her nose brushed Aida’s skin. She inhaled—slow, deep, deliberate.

”It’s warm,” she said. ”Like... like skin after sun. And something else. Something...” She inhaled again. ”Like the ocean. But not salt. Something deeper.”

Aida moved closer. Her clitoris touched Chen’s lips.

Chen went still.

For a long moment, nothing happened. The water lapped gently against their bodies. The music played on, soft and distant.

Then Chen’s tongue emerged.

It touched Aida—just the tip, just once, a question.

Aida moaned.

Chen’s tongue retreated, then returned. Pressed harder. Learned the shape of her, the taste of her. Her hands found Aida’s hips, gripping, holding her in place.

She feasted.

There was no other word for it. Her mouth opened, her tongue worked, and she devoured Aida with a hunger that seemed to come from somewhere primal—somewhere that had been waiting, unknown even to herself. Her tongue circled, pressed, entered. Her lips sucked. Her nose pressed into Aida’s skin, breathing her in.

Aida’s hands tangled in Chen’s wet hair. Her hips moved against Chen’s mouth. Her moans filled the room—shameless, loud, alive.

Mei-Lin watched, her own hand moving between her thighs, her breath quickening.

When Aida came, it was a release of everything—the tension of the morning, the horror of Chen’s scars, the hope of this moment. Her body convulsed, her cry echoed, and Chen caught every drop, licking, swallowing, taking her pleasure into herself.

When it was over, Aida slumped against the bath’s edge, trembling.

Chen’s face emerged. Wet. Glazed. Her blind eyes were wild with something new.

Arousal, Aida recognized. She’s aroused and doesn’t know what to do with it.

But Mei-Lin’s hand had already found its way.

Between Chen’s thighs. Touching gently. Questioning.

Chen tensed. Her whole body went rigid—a animal’s freeze, prey sensing danger.

Aida saw it. The wall. The fear.

She moved fast. Kissed Chen. Slid her tongue into Chen’s mouth, letting her taste—herself, Aida, the mingled evidence of what had just happened.

Chen’s tongue responded. Tentative at first, then curious, then hungry. The tension in her body didn’t disappear, but it shifted—became something else. Something warmer.

Aida’s hand found Mei-Lin’s, guided it. Together, they explored.

Chen’s clitoris was scarred. They could feel it—the tissue uneven, the sensitivity diminished but not absent. When Aida’s finger found it, circled gently, Chen’s breath caught.

”There,” Chen whispered against Aida’s mouth. ”I felt that.”

Aida continued. Light touches, learning the terrain, finding what remained responsive. Chen’s hips began to move—small circles, unconscious, wanting.

Lower. Aida’s finger found her entrance. The labia were torn, ragged, but inside—inside was still there. Still capable.

She slipped one finger in. Chen gasped.

The internal walls were scarred too. Aida could feel them—ridges of tissue where smooth should have been. What did they put in her? she wondered. What instrument, what object, to leave marks this deep?

Her tears fell into the bathwater.

She kept exploring. Gently. Learning. Past the scars, deeper, until—

Chen arched.

Her whole body bowed, her small breasts rising above the waterline. Her mouth opened in a sound that wasn’t quite a word.

”There,” she gasped. ”What was that?”

Aida pressed again. The same spot. Chen’s response was immediate—a shudder, a moan, her hands gripping Aida’s shoulders.

”That’s your G-spot,” Aida whispered. ”Every woman has one. Yours is still there. Still responsive.”

Chen’s blind eyes were wide. ”It feels... I didn’t know...”

Aida worked the spot. Gentle pressure, rhythmic, patient. Chen’s breath quickened. Her hips began to move in counterpoint—chasing the sensation, learning its rhythm.

Mei-Lin’s hand never stopped. Touching Chen’s clitoris, her labia, her thighs. Gentle, constant, there.

”Let go,” Aida whispered. ”Just feel. Don’t think. Don’t analyze. Just feel.”

Chen’s face contorted—concentration, confusion, and something else. Something breaking through.

Then her eyes flew open. Her mouth formed a silent O. Her whole body seized—once, twice, three times—and she cried out, a sound that was part sob, part scream, part something Aida had never heard before.

Her release came in waves. They could feel it—the clench of internal muscles, the shudder of her thighs, the way she clung to them both like they were the only solid things in a collapsing world.

When it was over, she collapsed against them, trembling.

A long moment passed. No one spoke. The music played on.

Then Chen smiled.

Not polite. Not performative. A real smile. The first in two years.

”That,” she whispered, ”was what you meant. About climax.”

Aida laughed—wet, broken, beautiful. ”Yes. That was it.”

”I understand now.” Chen’s voice was wonderstruck. ”I understand why people... why you...”

She couldn’t finish. Didn’t need to.

They held her. Kissed her. Whispered kind things.

”You can have my body anytime,” Aida said. ”Treat it like yours. Let me pleasure you. Let yourself feel.”

Mei-Lin echoed her. Pressed kisses to Chen’s shoulder, her cheek, her closed eyes. ”We’re here. We’re not going anywhere.”

Chen said nothing. Just held them tighter.

At the door, dressed now, she turned.

Crossed back to Aida. Hugged her. Held her for a long moment.

”I know what you wanted to ask,” she said quietly.

Aida stiffened.

Chen shook her head—just slightly. ”Everyone else wasn’t invited. Only the American and European aristocracy.”

The words hung in the air.

Chen pulled back. Her blind eyes found Aida’s direction.

”It’s our job now. Save what’s left of humanity before it’s gone forever.” She paused. ”That’s why I must put my pain aside. Push forward.”

She left.

Aida stood frozen.

It wasn’t me, she realized. I didn’t push her over the threshold. She pushed herself. She was always going to.

The thought should have been diminishing. Instead, it filled her with something like awe.

Then another feeling rose. Sudden. Overwhelming.

Anxiety.

The urge to search the ocean. To find what was left of her people. Her culture. Japan. Whatever remained.

Mei-Lin was there. Arms around her. Holding.

Aida leaned into her and breathed.